


Blame

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol, M/M, Physical Disability, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10508952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: They meet without warning, years later, on a warm summer evening.





	1. Another time, another place

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! This work is comple- I LIED! I couldn't help but add some more to this. Enjoy.

They were 28 the next time they met.

 

Shizuo spent a lot of time at home after their final confrontation, staring blankly at the ceiling above his bed. He thought that he would have a lot to think about but there was only one thing that rang clear in his mind, over and over again -  _ do it, monster.  _ The information broker had been right after all, hadn’t he? Shizuo had been able to survive multiple crushing objects, gas and fire. He remembered the fear in Izaya’s eyes when he realised the monster wasn’t dead as he intended - he thought it looked out of place, the flea was never frightened. The memory of arms crunching under his hands took a long time to fade but it never left. Shizuo found that strange. He’d broken a lot of bones over the years, his job as a bodyguard required him to do so almost every day, but it was only that one occasion that he could remember starkly. There had been so much blood splattered over the concrete of the intersection and the informant’s face. Izaya must be dead, there was no way he could be alive after that. 

 

It took the blond a while to come to terms with the idea that he could be a murderer. Longer still to accept that Izaya was really gone. Sometimes still, when a flutter of fur passed by or a grating laugh pierced his ears or a knife glinted in the sunlight, he thought he would turn and find him standing there, blade steady in his outstretched hand, smirk wide across his mouth. But he never was. As time passed, Shizuo conceded that Izaya was not coming back, that he was most likely dead and buried in the dirt. The thought didn’t satisfy him like he always thought it would, but there was little he could do now.  Each morning when he looked in his bathroom mirror he repeated over and over that _ he wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a monster.  _ It was a lie but it was comforting nonetheless. 

 

With the flea gone and the chance to live a peaceful life finally within reach, he quit his job alongside Tom and went back to what he was good at - bartending. At first he worked in smaller venues, then finer cocktail bars, until one day he became the manager at a tiny, but high-class bar in the centre of the city. The money was good, as were the team he looked after - it seemed his years of hard work and effort had paid off tenfold. He was satisfied with his daily life, each day he felt years of tension relax out of his muscles. Over time, he started to take care of himself again. His hair was still a vibrant blonde, though he chose to wear it smoothed back these days. He slept well, he ate regularly, he invested time in fitness rather than fighting. The man didn’t change much physically but his personality was greatly altered - he was quieter, calmer. Though he was still surly and quick to snap, the severity of his temper was much lower than before. From the flocks of enamored people that surrounded him, the change seemed to be paying off. The monster inside him was finally satiated - and all it took was nearly killing the man he hated most. 

 

The night happened entirely by coincidence. Kasuka received an invitation to an evening hosted in Tokyo by the production company who were handling his latest feature and, as Ruri was abroad, he asked Shizuo to attend. Normally, he would have said no as he wasn’t the biggest lover of the fancy events Kasuka frequented, but enjoyed seeing his brother and he could do with a party after a month of non-stop work. It never crossed his mind that he might be there.

 

It was eight o'clock, at a gothic banquet hall on the outskirts of the city. Shizuo arrived alone, Kasuka was already inside. He was dressed in formal black tie, hair slicked back away from his face, trademark cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. The hall was beautiful, coloured with plummy reds and rich golds. Four tables took up most of the space at the far end, each one set with fifty places for dinner. The entire chamber was filled with the pleasant smell of the food that would be served later. Shizuo felt his stomach grumble and moved into the room in search of canapes. The front half of the hall was filled with people, each holding a flute of champagne and dressed to the nines. They were talking happily amongst themselves, milling between the open bar and the area where a classical band were quietly playing. He finally sourced a waiter and happily accepted a glass of champagne. He moved further into the crowd, frowning slightly. Still no damn canapes, he thought, taking a drag from his cigarette. Carelessly, he tapped ash out onto the floor.

 

“Please use an ashtray,” came a toneless voice from behind him. 

 

The blond turned and smiled when he saw his brother looking at him blankly. He looked down at his cigarette and flushed. “Oh, uh - sorry.”

 

“Or go outside,” Kasuka replied, gesturing behind Shizuo with his forefinger. “There’s a pleasant balcony over there.”

 

Shizuo nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go finish this out there. It’s too fucking hot in here anyway.”

 

If Kasuka was annoyed by his cursing, his face didn’t show it. Shizuo turned on his heel and headed toward the balcony. On his way he downed the rest of his champagne and picked up another glass from a waiter’s tray. The waiter pursed his lips in distaste but one dark glare from the blond soon sent him scuttling away into the crowd. The balcony was quiet and he was thankful for the peace of the place. It was a warm night and a tumescent, pockmarked moon was a pale stain on the navy sky. It was only when he sat down at one of the small tables that he noticed the person lounging at the other end of the balcony. 

 

He was wearing a sharply cut, expensive looking suit, the black of which brought out the almost blue hue to his pale skin. His hair looked much the same as it always did, though the fringe was swept neatly away from his eyes. And fuck, those eyes, those dark, dark eyes. Shizuo felt his heart leap into his mouth and his hand automatically clenched around the flute, shattering the glass into pieces. There was still for a moment, the only sound the dripping of champagne over Shizuo’s hand onto the floor. 

 

“Izaya?” 

 

The information broker didn’t say anything, he just kept staring at Shizuo with wide eyes. Even in the dim of the evening he could see the same fear on the man’s face and when he looked up and down his body he could see his usually elegant fingers trembling around his glass. Shizuo took a step forward and Izaya flinched, an action which made him clumsily lose grip of his champagne flute. The glass shattered on the floor by his feet, sending liquid over his shoes. 

 

“Flea?” Shizuo said, brows knitting together. He could feel an former fury starting to burn in his chest, something he thought had been extinguished years ago. It was familiar, but jarring, and he took a drag of his cigarette to try and calm himself. It didn’t work because Izaya was just sat there as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been beaten half to death. In that moment, it felt like the years gone by, as if Izaya would laugh and run and cut into his chest with a flick-knife. His mind was clouding with fury the longer he looked at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

But Izaya wasn’t looking back at him anymore, he was staring at his lap. His shaking hands were hurriedly searching through the pockets of his suit jacket until they found their target and he pulled out his phone. Shizuo strode across the short distance between them and snatched the device out of his hands before he could unlock it. The smaller man flinched away from him, his mouth hanging open in shock.

 

“Oi, fucking say something,” he hissed, placing the phone down on the table behind him before he ended up snapping it in anger. “Iz-a-ya.”

 

“Get away from me,” Izaya replied, the words whistling through his grit teeth. “Shizu-chan, get away-”

 

His voice trailed off into a series of panicked gasps. Shizuo frowned and leaned back slightly, gaze running over the other man. Izaya was so tense that his entire body was trembling and he was clutching his thighs so tightly that his knuckles were straining white against his skin. Only then did the blond notice the walking stick propped up against his legs. The web of scars that wound from his right cheek down the side of his neck to his collarbone. The stark, shiny marks left by fire that ran over his left hand under the cuff of his white shirt. The way his shoulders sagged under some unusual weight, so unlike the upright confidence he used to hold himself with. This wasn’t the flea he knew, this wasn’t the terror he chased through the streets of Ikebukuro. Izaya wasn’t scared of him, Izaya wasn’t - Shizuo blinked and all at once the rage he felt drained away. He took a couple of steps back. 

 

“Izaya?” he mumbled, flicking his cigarette butt over the balcony. 

 

The information broker let out a breath and some of the tension in his shoulder released thanks to the extra space between them. He finally looked up at Shizuo, who was reminded of an animal in the headlights. 

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya said, voice sounding strained. “Are you here to kill me?”

 

“What? No,” the blond answered, placing his hands into his pockets. “I’m here with Kasuka. Why are  _ you  _ here?”

 

The brunet swallowed and his eyes darted to the door that led inside. “Making connections for a client.”

 

Shizuo scowled. “So you’re still doing that nasty job of yours.”

 

“Not to the same extent, but yes,” he said, quietly. His shaking seemed to have calmed but he still looked nervous. 

 

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?” 

 

The initial shock wore off quickly when Shizuo asked that and the fear in man’s eyes disappeared. Izaya sighed and pushed himself up shakily, grasping the edge of the table. His other hand tucked the walking stick under his arm and leaned against it heavily. Shizuo felt his blood run cold as he watched the smaller man hobble slowly toward him, his weak legs looking as if they were barely holding him upright. 

 

“I don’t do much work in the field anymore. I leave the leg work to others,” Izaya explained, coldly. The anxiety on his face had been replaced by a blank mask but his eyes were more than enough to reveal that he was brimming with rage. “Since someone  _ fucked _ up my spine, my legs don’t work as well as they used to.”

 

Shizuo stiffened at the accusation woven into that statement. He shook his head and met Izaya’s gaze, feeling oddly uncomfortable. “You expect me to be sympathetic or something? You tried to murder me, flea.”

 

“Yes, I did,” he replied. An old smirk broke out on Izaya’s mouth and it was so familiar that, for a moment, Shizuo lost sight of the slouch of his shoulders and the cane under his arm and they could have been standing back on that intersection the day that he told the monster to  _ do it.  _ The smirk disappeared quickly, descending into a weighted frown. “But I underestimated you, didn’t I? You didn’t die and you didn’t even finish me off.”

 

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Shizuo growled, clenching his fists in his pockets. 

 

Izaya grabbed his phone from the table with his spare hand and slipped it into his jacket. He gave Shizuo a grim smile. “We both failed, then.”

 

“I guess so,” he agreed, plucking another cigarette from the box tucked into the pocket by his lapel. 

 

Izaya stared at him silently for a moment, his big, dark eyes expressing something Shizuo never thought he would see there. Sadness, possibly regret. If it was, the regret was not for his actions but selfishly for his failure. The information broker gave another sigh and leaned against the stick as he began to walk past Shizuo. “Let’s not meet again, Shizu-chan. I can’t bear the sight of you.”

 

The blond lit his cigarette and faced the empty balcony, listening to the sound of Izaya’s uneven footsteps as they tapped over the stone. A small part of him was glad that the flea was alive, but it was a selfish part, the part that was absolved of murder by his continued existence. “That’s fine by me, Izaya. Fine by me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Wretched circumstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist adding more to this. Upped the rating, as it will need it.

It was raining outside that night, so the bar was empty. Shizuo didn’t mind, he was working alone and it gave him the opportunity to get to a number of odd jobs he’d put off when it was busy. When the clock chimed nine, he was stood behind the bar polishing the crystal glasses used for serving absinthe, humming along to the jazz music playing quietly through the speakers. As he polished, he thought back on the night five days ago, the night when he’d seen Izaya. Truthfully, the blond didn’t know how to feel. Relieved? Annoyed? Angry? Happy? He couldn’t decide, all his emotions seemed to be shaken up into some indistinguishable cocktail. A small part of him wished to see the information broker again, just to be certain that he hadn’t seen a ghost or some nasty manifestation of his own guilt. He wanted to see all the injuries and feel the still-beating heart underneath the burns so he could be sure that Izaya really was alive. 

 

God help him if the flea had come back to haunt him. 

 

The bell above the front door sounded and when Shizuo turned to greet the person shuffling into the bar he got his wish. Izaya stood a few metres away, sliding the runner of his black umbrella down the tube. He was dressed in a smart black suit with a deep red shirt beneath the jacket which reminded Shizuo of a longer, more adult version of his Raira uniform. A raincoat was slung across his shoulders, he hadn’t bothered to put his arms into it so it hung like a cape around his thin body. The walking stick was under his arm, pressing hard into his side as he leaned heavily onto it. For a moment the two men just stared at one another silently, both uncertain of what to say. Eventually, Shizuo placed the glass he had been polishing down onto the bar and leaned both hands against the counter. He took a deep breath, already aware of the anger beginning to burn in his chest. If he overreacted Izaya was likely to panic as he did before and he wanted a chance to speak with the information broker. 

 

“Why are you here?” he asked, tone flat and blunt. 

 

Izaya blinked, as if the question had brought him out of some deep thought he was having. He frowned and his brows dipped, creasing the centre of his forehead. “Um, I-”

 

“Stop fucking around and pretending you’re scared.  _ Answer me _ ,” Shizuo growled, gritting his teeth together. His patience was still paper thin when it came to the man standing in front of him and he was already on the verge of snapping entirely and throwing a punch. The broker’s eyes widened a little at the aggression in the blond’s tone and Shizuo could see his hands trembling beneath his coat. “I said-”

 

“I’m not  _ pretending, _ ” Izaya replied. His tone was shrill, so different to the usual playfulness that it took the bartender back a little. The broker took in a deep breath and seemed to shudder as he let it out but his furious gaze didn’t leave Shizuo’s, he held that steady despite the shaking in his limbs. “You nearly killed me, or did you forget?”

 

The blond felt the countertop give way between the death-grip of his fingers so he quickly pulled his hands back and clenched his fists at his sides. Scared - he couldn’t be scared. Izaya wasn’t afraid of anything, certainly not Shizuo, he must be lying. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was, the broker had uttered nothing but lies since the day they met. 

 

“Fuck you,” he snarled. He was thankful for the bar between them or he probably would have punched Izaya by now and, considering the state of his body, Shizuo didn’t know if he would survive it. “You tried to kill me first. Did  _ you  _ forget?”

 

“I remember, Shizu-chan,” Izaya stated, blankly. He shifted his weight slightly and winced at the feeling. “I’ve tried to forget that day but unfortunately it’s rather difficult when every painful movement reminds me of what happened. Reminds me of  _ you _ .”

 

Shizuo scoffed and unbuttoned the cuff link on his left sleeve so that he could shove it up to his elbow. The skin of his forearm was rough, stretched thin and ragged over the bone. Though the burns slowly healed, his arm was still a darker colour than the unblemished areas of his body. The affected area ran up his arm and spread out across his shoulder blade and pectoral. He remembered the pain of the injury well, despite the fact it had faded over time. His arm had gotten caught in concrete before he could drop through the hole he’d punched in the floor and the fire had eaten into his flesh. Even with his advanced healing rate the burning pain didn’t die for weeks and it took well over a year for the blisters to fade into scars.

 

“It hurt me too, asshole,” he fumed. As a loud growl rumbled low in his throat, he rounded the bar and stomped toward the information broker. “Why the fuck are you here?” 

 

Izaya took one wobbly step back but Shizuo grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him forward. The informant gasped and he moved both his hands up to Shizuo’s wrist to try and pry him off. Slight fear was obvious in his dark eyes but the bartender was too full of rage to care. Izaya’s walking stick clattered to the floor at their feet and Shizuo felt his small body go slack when his knees collapsed beneath him. The blond hoisted him up so he could closely stare into Izaya’s eyes and at that proximity he found himself believing for the first time that the information broker truly  _ was _ afraid. 

 

“You said you didn’t wanna see me again, right?” Shizuo hissed. Izaya was digging his fingers into the skin of his wrist but he could barely feel it. “So why are you here? I’m not gonna ask again.”

 

“Let go,” Izaya murmured, his voice barely more than a hoarse rasp. The quiet tone startled Shizuo enough for his anger to wane slightly but he held fast on Izaya’s shirt. “Shizuo. Put me down.”

 

The  _ Shizuo  _ forced his hand. The bartender sighed and half-dragged the information broker across the bar, where he shoved him onto a stool and finally released his shirt. He turned to move back behind the bar, giving Izaya a moment to collect himself - his pale face and shaky breath made him appear to be on the verge of throwing up. Shizuo clenched his jaw as he gathered a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the shelf. This wasn’t right, had he really affected Izaya  _ that  _ much? He filled the glasses with ice and poured two doubles, realising that they probably both needed a drink at that point. Izaya stared at the whiskey, weariness clear from the frown on his lips and the dark circles beneath his eyes, then reached forward and slid his fingers around the glass. 

 

“I didn’t want to see you again,” Izaya sighed, staring down into the drink. “But I had to. Before I could stop myself I was already outside the door.”

 

“Why?” Shizuo asked. He searched his trouser pockets for a cigarette and jammed one in his mouth. He flicked open his lighter and took in a deep breath, setting the end alight. Izaya looked back up at him and focused on the flame before Shizuo clicked it shut. Smoke curled between them, thickening the air. “Why did you  _ have  _ to come?”

 

Izaya hesitated and took a sip of his drink. A little of the colour had come back into his face and the drink seemed to settle him further, his shoulders relaxed, his fingers stopped trembling. “There’s something I wanted to inform you of. And I needed to be sure that I was wrong.”

 

Shizuo frowned and smoke plumed out from behind his lips. “Wrong ‘bout what?”

 

“I always called you a monster, didn’t I?” Izaya commented. He began aimlessly toying with the silver rings on his forefingers. “After you stopped yourself from killing me, I found I was wrong. You were just as human as the rest of them in the end. Such a disappointment.”

 

“I thought you loved humans,” Shizuo grunted, shaking his head. “You said it enough fuckin’ times.”

 

A tired smile spread across Izaya’s face. “That’s exactly why I’m disappointed, Shizu-chan. I never wanted to lump  _ you  _ in with the people I love.”

 

“You’re a fucking psycho, flea. I almost kill you and it makes you love me?” 

 

“No,” Izaya added, pursing his lips. “No, I still don’t. You’re an anomaly, so I put you in the same group as that Sonohara-Saika girl - humans, yes, but superhuman freaks.”

 

The bartender’s face went sour and he knocked back his drink just so he wouldn’t punch the other man. He poured himself another and in his irritation he spilt some onto the counter. 

 

“Well  _ thanks _ ,” Shizuo growled, stabbing his cigarette into the ashtray on the bar. “So what, you still think you were wrong?”

 

Izaya nodded and pushed his empty glass forward to indicate he would like a refill. Reluctantly, the blond obliged. “Yes, I was wrong. I apologise for the mistake.”

 

The bartender had to slam the bottle on the counter before he cracked it over the information broker’s head. His face burned red with rage and he was almost shaking from the force of the anger he was feeling. 

 

“You  _ apologise _ ?!” he snarled, pounding one of his fists against the bar. Izaya flinched backward and one of his hands flew to his jacket pocket. “You called me a monster and ruined my life for  _ years _ . You tried to set me on fire and murder me - but you apologise?! Oh yeah, sure, all’s fuckin’ forgiven Iz-a-ya.”

 

He grabbed ahold of Izaya’s jaw and yanked him forward so that his torso was sprawled over the counter. The grip on his head was crushing and Izaya cried out loudly in pain, fingers clawing at Shizuo to try and get him off. 

 

“Shut the fuck up and listen, flea,” Shizuo continued, squeezing a little tighter in warning. It wasn’t enough to snap the informant’s jaw but he could feel the bone creaking beneath his fingers. The tears that formed in Izaya’s eyes told him that it must have hurt but he kept as quiet as he could, just as Shizuo ordered. “I will never accept any of your shitty apologies so if you’re lookin’ for forgiveness you can fuck off. You weak piece of sh-agh!”

 

Pain rushed through his chest and when he looked down a familiar flick-knife was sticking out of his left pectoral. Blood bloomed through the white fabric and rapidly spread across his chest. Shizuo growled furiously and shoved Izaya back hard, causing him to fall off the stool and crash to the floor. As he rounded the bar, the blond yanked the blade out of his chest and held it up to the light. Izaya turned onto his back so that he could look at the other man, who was now grinning maniacally. It could have been a still from one of their old fights and for a moment the informant believed he could get up, he could begin to run and they would terrorize the city together once again. But when he tried to move pain shot up his legs and he grit his teeth together miserably. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Shizuo was fine and he was reduced to crawling on the floor like an insect. 

 

“Can’t escape anymore, can ya’, flea?” Shizuo laughed. He raised a foot and kicked the informant roughly in the ribs. “There. That’s for stabbing me, you little shit. Call it quits, okay? I don’t wanna fight tonight. Now, buy a drink or get the fuck outta my bar.”

 

Izaya coughed aggressively and tried to push himself up but all strength seemed to leave him and he collapsed back down. The bartender groaned and hauled the informant off the floor by the scruff of his collar. He actually felt  _ sorry  _ for Izaya and he hated it. 

 

“C’mon flea, stop fucking around.”

 

The brunet gurgled in pain and clutched his bruised side as Shizuo dumped him back on the bar stool. 

 

“Fucking  _ hurts _ , Shizu-chan. You’re such a brute. Truce, truce,” he mumbled. Despite the obvious pain, his voice was stronger, a little closer to the vicious drawl of their youth than the pathetic tone he’d been speaking with all night. Just for a second, he glared up at the bartender and the corner of his mouth twitched up a fraction. “Get me a drink, your choice.” 

 

“You can have the weakest, shittiest beer we have.”

 

“Fine, I’ll have a Tom Collins,” Izaya replied. He smiled, seemingly amused by the gruffness of the other man who busied himself preparing the cocktail. “You seem to be doing well.”

 

“Yeah. I like bartending, it’s good,” he answered. The two men had never exchanged this many words before, they usually communicated with fists and knives. It was strange, speaking to Izaya, but what was stranger was the fact that Shizuo didn’t feel all that uncomfortable. “And you?”

 

The informant leaned forward and rested his chin on his knuckles. “Aside from the physical condition, things are much the same. I missed Ikebukuro though, it’s nice to be back.”

 

“That feelin’ ain’t returned, flea,” Shizuo complained. He found a rag beneath the bar and pressed it against the stab wound in his chest. It had already started to congeal but the area was saturated with blood that needed mopping up. “I can’t believe anyone would actually want a job like yours. Takes a real psycho like you to get any enjoyment outta it.”

 

“I’m an observer, I like watching what people do in certain situations.”

 

The bartender scoffed and threw the bloody rag into the bin. “You are a fuckin’ puppet master, flea. You don’t just watch, you  _ play. _ ”

 

“Life is but a game,” Izaya quipped. His smile curved up further and  _ finally _ he smirked like he used to. Shizuo felt a nostalgic pang of anger at the expression but held himself back - he’d already gone too far that night and he didn’t want to destroy the bar. “And we are the playthings of the gods.”

 

“Yeah?” the blond sneered. “And what, you think of yourself as some sorta god?”

 

“Not at all,” Izaya replied, eyes settling on the bloodstain on Shizuo’s shirt. “As I said, I’m just an observer. I am well aware of my own humanity, now more than ever.”

 

Shizuo raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

 

The informant looked back up at him through his lashes and the smirk dropped back into weariness. “I always used to bounce back better than ever, even after I got stabbed. But - but this time I didn’t. It was a hard lesson to learn but I have come to accept my mortality. I’m just a man.” 

 

Shizuo stared at him silently for a moment, then began gathering ingredients and glasses. A man, the blond always thought Izaya was more like a child. A nasty child with a magnifying glass, standing over an anthill with the sun behind him. His face retained its youthfulness in a way that Shizuo’s hadn’t and his thin frame meant that he could very well be mistaken for someone much younger. The blond turned and placed the drink carefully on the top of the counter when he had finished. The informant’s eyes were the only part of him that didn’t look young, he thought, his eyes had always been very old. Shizuo had never had much of an opportunity to actually look at Izaya before, they’d always been preoccupied with their fights and never slowed down. Now that he had the chance to observe him, the blond was surprised to find that he found him quite handsome. Physical attractiveness didn’t make up for his shitty personality though, the bartender reminded himself. The man was rotten to the core. Izaya nodded in thanks and slid a silver card from his wallet which he presented to the bartender. Shizuo frowned and pushed it back toward him, shaking his head. 

 

“Y’know, this one’s on the house,” he said, with a shrug. “Seeing as I crippled you and all.”

 

The collar of his shirt was open which allowed Shizuo to see more of his neck than before. The web of scars he’d noticed the other night spread further than he thought, they ran from underneath his shirt, up his chest and all the way to the back of his neck. They didn’t look like his own burns, more like tears or claw-marks. 

 

“Your neck,” Shizuo stated, pointing to the side of his own throat. “How’d that happen?” 

 

Izaya pulled the cocktail closer to his side of the bar with one hand and touched the scars with the other. There was a wistful smile on his face as his gaze trailed back up to Shizuo’s face. “When you threw me into the building. This side of my body took most of the impact, tore off a lot of skin.”

 

“Gross,” Shizuo commented, wrinkling his nose. “To be honest, I thought the injuries would’ve killed you eventually.”

 

“Namie is a very good doctor,” he murmured. He dropped the hand on his neck back onto the counter. “But fret not, your actions were not useless. It took me a long time to get out of bed. It’s only been a few months since I got out of-” The informant paused and took a sip of his drink, downcast eyes looking rather dejected. “Since I started moving unassisted.”

 

Shizuo swallowed and turned away so that he could pour himself a drink. The two men remained in silence for a couple of minutes until the bartender finally turned back around with a freshly made cocktail. He felt awkward all of a sudden, it was uncomfortable to hear Izaya speaking about his recovery. 

 

“What, you expect an apology or something?” he grunted. He took a large gulp of his cocktail and then set the glass next to Izaya’s. “Cos’ you’re not getting one.”

 

Izaya laughed lightly and shook his head. “No, that never crossed my mind.”

 

The blond narrowed his eyes and stared at the other man for a moment, then sighed sharply and took another sip of his drink. “You’re weird. This is weird.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Talking to you,” Shizuo replied, gruffly. “It’s fucking weird. I feel like I should punch you in the face or something.”

 

Izaya chuckled and downed the rest of his drink. ”I’d rather you didn’t. I can’t fight back like I used to.”

 

“You stabbed me in the chest earlier.”

 

“Well, I didn’t say I was  _ totally  _ helpless now, did I Shizu-chan?”

 

They smiled without malice at one another, possibly for the first time in their lives. They remained in relative silence for the next few minutes, the quiet only punctuated by the slurping of drinks and the steady sound of breathing. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it was something close to peace, an enormous development considering their past. Eventually, Izaya pushed himself off the stool and limped across the room to retrieve his walking stick from where it had fallen. He didn’t turn back to look at Shizuo, he just quietly headed to the door. The bartender watched him until he got to the door, then he leaned on the counter and called out.

 

“Izaya?”

 

The information broker looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Shizu-chan?”

 

“Uh - when you arrived, you said you needed to inform me of something,” Shizuo said, placing the empty glass into the sink. “What was it?”

 

“Oh, that,” Izaya turned fully to face him and smiled unpleasantly. The look made Shizuo’s stomach turn uneasily but he didn’t move, despite how much his body wanted him to. The old chorus of rageful voices started to ring in his ears.  _ Kill kill kill kill-  _ “I’m moving back to Ikebukuro.”

 

Shizuo felt his heart sink. “What?”

 

“I’ve come home,” he said, happily. His gaze darkened and his mouth stretched until he was smiling like a grotesque parody of himself. “This city is truly the most wonderful hive of humans and I felt it calling me back.”

 

The informant gave him one final look, then turned and opened the door. Rain was still lashing down on the empty city streets, so he slid his umbrella out and laid it across his shoulder. There was a car waiting close by, lights on, clearly waiting for Izaya. Before he was swallowed by the darkness, he called out to the bartender. 

 

“We’re going to have so much fun! See you round, Shizu-chan.”


	3. Taking liberties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, it's busy busy at the moment. I'm away for a couple of days so new updates will be from next Monday. For this, 'Masterpiece', 'Mephitic' and a couple of the short series fics too. Hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be from Izaya's perspective.

The next day passed slowly. Shizuo didn’t get up until midday - he tended to sleep in late after working the closing shifts, which he often did. He took a walk to get his mind off the previous evening, he wasn’t quite prepared to think about the flea before his first coffee of the day. When he finally finished his third over-sugared cappuccino, just as he was walking into work to begin his lonesome evening shift, he allowed his thoughts to wander to the information broker and the strange evening they shared. There was a lot to go over, so he was somewhat glad for the torrential rain outside which meant that the bar was quiet and business was slow. The place was popular and as much as he enjoyed the nights where it was heaving he didn’t mind the odd off day, especially when he had something playing on his mind. 

 

_ Izaya.  _

 

Ikebukuro had been so peaceful since his departure and Shizuo worried that his sudden return would prompt a resurgence of the violence from the past. If that happened he might return to his old ways, perhaps the little calm he’d managed to foster would be destroyed and he'd lose control of himself again. He hoped not, he much preferred an easy existence. Things were better when they were simpler and God knows Izaya was  _ not  _ a simple creature. No, he was a man who thrived on complication. The bartender knew that he himself wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the many strings Izaya had tied around his fingertips, no doubt he would have forgotten to keep an eye on all of his enemies and wound up dead or - or broken. He swallowed thickly, thinking of the way the informant’s neck was mottled by scars, the way his legs shook as he walked. Perhaps even for someone as clever and manipulative as Izaya that much complication could be blinding. The broker was so drunk on his own obsessive thoughts that he’d missed some details, more importantly he’d underestimated Shizuo. Their skills were almost polar opposite and it couldn’t be denied that Shizuo was always going to be the victor in hand-to-hand combat. Izaya was stupid to think he could face him on the intersection. Part of him wondered if the informant had resigned by that stage, he certainly seemed to give up when he spat ‘ _ Do it, monster’  _ through a mouthful of blood. 

 

The blond wrinkled his nose in disgust and placed the glass he was polishing back onto the counter. The memories of that day were not pleasant, even to him. For the longest time he thought cracking the flea’s bones and watching him choke on his own blood would be wonderful but the reality was far more disturbing. Shizuo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated by the memory of his own violence. He pushed himself off the bar and turned back to the bottles lining the wall. It had been a slow night, it was almost closing time and there were only two businessmen sat in one of the booths, so he saw no problem with pouring himself a short. The alcohol soothed him a little but he was still perturbed by the fact he couldn’t get Izaya out of his head. 

 

By the time he finished his drink and fourth cigarette, it was closing time. The bartender was relieved, he wanted to get home and sleep so that he could avoid the grotesque memories playing over and over in his head. He began to clean up the bar and wipe down the tables surrounding the two men in the booth. They didn’t seem to notice his movements which irked him, so eventually he stomped over to their table and glared down at both of them. 

 

“We’re closed,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. “Last call was half an hour ago.”

 

One of the men scoffed and continued to drink while the other smirked up at him. They were dressed in finely cut suits that suggested they were businessmen, though the fabric was now fairly wrinkled and stained by beer. Shizuo hadn’t seen them in the bar before but they’d been there for a long time that night and were clearly wasted. 

 

“I don’t think so, mate,” one of the men laughed. He raised his glass and shoved it into Shizuo’s hands. “We’ll leave when we wanna leave. Now go get me another Asahi, yeah?”

 

They both howled with laughter - right up until the moment that the glass in Shizuo’s hand exploded under the pressure of his strong fingers. When the men looked back up at the bartender, his face was flushed red and a large vein was throbbing aggressively in his forehead. 

 

“Get out,” Shizuo hissed, the sound whistling through his grit teeth. He opened his hand and the remnants of the glass fell to the floor at his feet. There was blood clinging to the shards and more pouring from the wounds running across his fingers.

 

“Listen,” one of the businessmen slurred, standing upright. “We’re not the sorta people you wanna fuck with, okay, pretty boy?”

 

“Hey Kuroi, wait,” the other said, a look of unease on his face. He observed the bartender for a moment longer, then his eyes widened and he turned to look back at his friend. “Wait- that’s Shiz-”

 

The man standing up didn’t seem to care about the warnings of the other. He pushed a hand against Shizuo’s chest. “You gonna get my beer, huh? What are you - deaf?”

 

Shizuo opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when the man socked him straight in the face. 

 

“Ow, fuck!” the man shrieked, holding his hand close to his chest. He scowled at the bartender, who was staring blankly at the floor. “What the fuck, are you made of fucking metal?”

 

The blond swung his head back to look at them and clenched a fist at his side. Anger was pulsing heavy and hard through his veins, heat was flushing his face. Privileged assholes like this didn’t usually affect him anymore, but he could hear the flea laughing, he could smell him again and he was blinded by images of their former chases. He hadn’t thought about Izaya in so long, it was overwhelming, it was- 

 

_ Kill kill kill killkillkillkill-kill kill- _

 

Just as he began to take a step forward, he felt a hand slam down on his shoulder and he whirled around to glare at its owner. As if on cue, Izaya was staring back at him with an unfamiliar look at concern on his face. He dropped his hand and his brows furrowed in the centre of his forehead. 

 

“Calm down, Shizu-chan,” he warned, peering behind the bartender at the two businessmen. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your bar, would you?”

 

“Iz-a-y-” 

 

“Stop,” the informant ordered, calmly. He jerked his head toward the bar and gave Shizuo a lazy smile. “I’d like another Tom Collins, if you’d be so kind.”

 

His rationality made Shizuo feel as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. With an angry sigh, the bartender shoved past him and headed toward the bar, teeth still grit together even though his rage was quieting. He managed to concoct the drink despite his trembling hands and when he turned to place it on the bar, Izaya was already perched on a stool on the other side. The two men were gone. 

 

“How’d you get rid of them?” Shizuo growled, pushing the cocktail toward the other man. 

 

“You actually made my drink for me, what a surprise.”

 

The bartender scowled and folded his broad arms across his chest. He couldn’t deny that Izaya had come in the nick of time. If he’d punched those men in the face he probably would have ended up destroying the bar, losing his job and potentially facing assault charges. That  _ Izaya  _ was the one to help him out made him feel sick. There was no way in hell he was going to say ‘thank you’ but the drink implied the same sentiment without the embarrassment of having to say it out loud. “Answer my question, fleabag.”

 

Izaya slid a hand around the glass and dragged it across the counter, closer to him. “They are fairly well-known officials, Shizu-chan. Well-known officials with penchants for brothels and strip-clubs. I simply informed them that it would be a shame if their wives found out about that little detail. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t recognise them.”

 

The bartender grunted and turned away from the other man as he began to sip his drink. In days gone by he would never have taken his eyes off the flea. It was too dangerous to let him get out of sight or he could end up with a knife in his back. Strangely, the present feeling was different and that irked him more than it should - hadn’t he spent years craving a peaceful life? Why then was he feeling so uncomfortable with the settled atmosphere? Shizuo couldn’t understand why the prospect of another quiet evening with Izaya was making him so antsy. He reached into his pocket, itching for a cigarette, only to find that the box was empty. With a sigh, he turned back to the informant and wrinkled his nose in disgust when he saw that the other man was gazing at him intently, a wide grin on his face. 

 

“What you lookin’ at?” Shizuo huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

 

“You,” Izaya replied, gaze lowering back into his drink. “It’s strange to see you out of your old bartender uniform.”

 

Before he could stop himself, the blonde snapped. “Yeah, well my last set got torched and covered in blood. I had to get a load of new clothes.”

 

The informant froze, just for a second, but it wasn’t missed by Shizuo. Izaya took in a short breath then peered back up at the blond, eyes dark and unreadable. “I see.”

 

“Why are you here again?” Shizuo asked, gruffly. He hated the awkward tension that hung heavy in the air, it was more disturbing to him than any of their fights, bar the last one. 

 

“I don’t know,” the informant admitted, after a long pause. “I had business in the area and before I knew it I was back at the door again.”

 

“You looking to get punched in the head or somethin’?” he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

Izaya smiled wearily and took a long sip of his drink before replying. “No. I know you won’t punch me, Shizu-chan.”

 

“Yeah?” Shizuo scowled. “And what makes you think that?”

 

The informant stared at him silently, for such a long time that Shizuo felt a hot flush creep over his face. Just as he was about to snap at Izaya, the man reached into the pocket of his jacket and slid a packet of unopened cigarettes across the counter. Shizuo frowned, confused. 

 

“Wha-?”

 

“You haven’t punched me yet,” Izaya stated, sliding the now-empty glass back toward Shizuo. “You used to swing upon sight but you’ve held yourself back three times now. If you wanted to punch me, you would have done so by now. I can only guess that it because of my current physical state but I can’t be sure. I never could understand you.”

 

Slowly, the information broker slid off the stool onto his feet, walking stick tucked firmly beneath his arm. A look of pain flashed across his face when he put his weight back onto his feet but that was soon replaced by Izaya’s usual false joviality. He waved carelessly, not bothering to face Shizuo as he made his way to the door. Just before he left, the bartender called out to him and held up the packet of cigarettes.

 

“You’re coming back tomorrow, aren’t you?” Shizuo asked, raising a brow. Izaya looked back over his shoulder and nodded curtly. “Why? What is coming here gonna get you? I don’t understand.”

 

There was a sickeningly long pause before Izaya spoke again. 

 

“Do you remember the trip we took to Okinawa in our final year at Raijin?”

 

Shizuo blinked and his stomach twisted as if he were going to be sick. He hadn’t expected that comment, not from  _ him,  _ not in a million years. It was almost as if they had an unspoken rule between them, an agreement not to talk about  _ that,  _ not to even remember it. Izaya was staring at him as if he could see right through his blank facade, as if he could read his mind.  _ Yes, he remembered.  _ He didn’t say it out loud but the silence was more than enough to indicate his thoughts. The informant nodded and turned back to the door so that he could gaze blankly at the falling rain. 

 

“No,” Shizuo eventually answered, voice slightly hoarse from the shock. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

 

Izaya hummed lightly as he headed out into the rain. “See you tomorrow evening, Shizu-chan.”

 

The bartender remained still until the door swung shut, then he collapsed onto one of the bar stools and tore open the much-needed packet of cigarettes. Of course Izaya would know the exact brand he liked, he thought as he sparked one into life. The smoke didn’t soothe him like it usually did. Izaya knew that he was lying, there was no doubt about that. Shizuo didn’t think either of them could erase that memory even if they tried. But why bring it up now? Almost ten years had passed, what was the informant’s intention? The bartender forced himself to believe it must be some sort of twisted mind game - Izaya loved playing mind games, of course, that’s all it was. Nothing else. 

 

He sat in the closed bar until the box of cigarettes was empty and dawn was breaking over the horizon. 

  
  



	4. Suspended in time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot of talk. Angsty talk. Sorry guys, I'm having a bit of a block with this story at the moment but I can't really move ahead with the plot without these little moments. :(

He definitely didn’t think about it.  _ Definitely not.  _ Not even a little bit. Shizuo hung his head and groaned, fingers curling around his half-empty pint glass. Izaya’s words were burned into his memory and he couldn’t erase them no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. One of these attempts at distraction had led him to a bar in the middle of the day, where he proceeded to drain at least four pints of beer. He didn’t even like beer. At nine he left for home. He had been too irritated by the prospect of going into work that evening, too anxious about seeing Izaya again. Instead, he picked up some takeaway, a few more beers and prepared for a long night of Marlboro Reds and television re-runs. It wasn’t far from the bar to his apartment complex, normally it was enough time for two cigarettes to burn into ash but at the speed he was walking it took little less than an half of one. The reason for picking up pace was obvious, even if he tried to deny it to himself - without distraction, his thoughts would wander. He unlocked his front door and wrenched it open angrily. Without distraction, all he could think about was-

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

 

He dropped the beers onto the floor, surprised by the presence of the person sat behind his kitchen table. 

 

“Calm down, Shizu-chan, I’m not here to stab you or anything.”

 

Shizuo scowled and threw his keys onto the table. Izaya was watching him with his usual smugness, with that smile that said ‘ _ I broke into your home - aren't I clever? _ ’. Shizuo had to change his locks four times in the past, he even put a more heavy duty handle on the door but nothing stopped him from breaking in before and obviously it didn’t stop him in the present either. The information broker leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and chuckled darkly under his breath. 

 

“Would you like a drink?” Izaya asked. He reached under the table and retrieved a bottle of red wine which he placed on the surface. “You’ve given me a couple of free cocktails, I felt it only fair to return the favour.”

 

They stared at one another in silence for a moment, then the blond growled lowly and pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the table. Izaya smiled widely and pushed the bottle toward him.

 

“Glasses?” 

 

“In the cupboard above the sink. Get ‘em yourse-” Shizuo paused for a moment and his gaze drifted to the walking stick propped up against Izaya’s thigh. When he looked back up at his face, he noted an expression of curiosity on the information broker’s face, as if he were waiting for what Shizuo would do next. The bartender sighed, the air coming short and sharp out of his nose, and stood so that he could grab two glasses from the cupboard. He settled one in front of the brunet and the other by his own seat, then turned to pull a magnetic corkscrew from the fridge. 

 

“Would you mind opening it?” Izaya asked, pulling his glass closer. He raised a hand and flexed his fingers a little as if to show their limited curl. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.”

 

“That’s a lie,” Shizuo retorted. He picked up the bottle and wound the metal screw into the soft cork, easing it out with experienced precision. “You stabbed me pretty fucking deftly the other day.”

 

Izaya chuckled and lowered his hand back onto the table. “I have good days and bad days. Today is a bad day.”

 

The bartender raised a brow but pressed no further. As he set about pouring them each a glass, his gaze searched the information broker’s face for a hint of dishonesty but much to his surprise, he couldn’t find any. In its place was simply exhaustion, a feeling he’d never thought would afflict a creature such as Izaya Orihara. He handed the broker back his glass and chinked his own against the side. 

 

“Thanks,” he said, gruffly. “For the wine.” 

 

“You're welcome,” Izaya replied, grinning widely. He raised a brow as Shizuo took a deep sip from his glass. “You sure that's not poisoned?” 

 

Shizuo spluttered into the wine and spat the contents of his mouth back into the glass. Angrily he placed it back onto the table and turned his glare up to Izaya, who was laughing merrily at his reaction. 

 

“You little shi-”

 

Izaya leaned across the table and gently wiped an errant dribble of red wine from Shizuo’s bottom lip. The blond froze momentarily but soon caught the other man’s wrist and pulled it away from his face. The skin which Izaya had rolled his thumb over felt like it was tingling and he unconsciously swiped his tongue over it to try and get rid of the sensation. 

 

“I was joking, Shizu-chan,” Izaya stated, pulling his hand out of the bartender’s grip. He rested both his hands at the base of his wine glass. “You beat me fair and square, I'm not looking to kill you anymore.” 

 

“I doubt that,” he scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“What I  _ mean  _ is-” Shizuo paused, clenching his fist in his lap. “Is that this thing - this ‘rivalry’, whatever this is between us - there’s only one way it can end. One of us will have to kill the other.” 

 

“Why?” Izaya rolled his head to one side and rested his cheek on his knuckles. “You almost succeeded. Isn't that enough?” 

 

“Well, I- I’m dunno. We’ve always tried to kill each other, so-”

 

“Not always,” the informant interrupted, smoothly. He raised his glass to his lips and took a long sip, watching Shizuo’s face grow pale over the rim of his glass. “There was one instance where we didn’t.” 

 

The blond turned his eyes away from Izaya and looked down into his glass. He didn’t want to talk about this, he didn’t want to even  _ think  _ about it. “Things change.”

 

“Things always change, evolve - that’s the beauty of life,” the informant mused, placing his glass back on the table. “I see no reason why things can’t change between us.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The only thing stopping me from coming back to Ikebukuro was my fear of-” Izaya sighed and his smile dropped into a weary line. “But this is my home, I want to stay here. For that to happen I need to form some sort of truce, Shizu-chan. I can’t fight with you anymore.”

 

The statement took a while to sink in. At first Shizuo thought that Izaya might be trying to play with him but the sincerity on the man’s face said otherwise. Eventually, he let out a gruff sigh and fished out a cigarette box from his pocket. “Whatever, just don’t piss me off.”

 

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to not piss you off, Shizu-chan. It’s as natural to you as breathing.”

 

“So what d’you intend to do?”

 

Izaya turned the stem of his glass between his fingertips. “Change the playing field.”

 

“What the fuck’s that ‘sposed to mean?” he grunted, swiftly lighting the cigarette. 

 

The information broker smiled and rested his cheek back on his knuckles. His eyes shone in the dim lamplight of the room and Shizuo felt that same nervous sensation fluttering in his stomach. The blond opened his mouth to say ‘ _ don’t’  _ but Izaya was already talking before he had the chance. 

 

“There are other ways to win than besting you in a fight, which clearly I can’t in my present state. I asked if you remembered,” Izaya said. He slid his hand across the table so he could take hold of Shizuo’s cigarette box. He opened the lid and plucked one of the tube out, placing it in his mouth. “Lighter?” Shizuo nodded and passed the informant his light. Izaya smiled and turned it around in his hand. “Your brother gave you this, didn’t he?”

 

Shizuo blinked, too distracted by the memories of the past to notice that he’d just given one of his most treasured possessions to his most hated enemy. Before he could complain, Izaya had sparked up the end of the cigarette and passed the lighter back into his still-outstretched hand. The blond looked down into his palm and folded his fingers around the item, a little surprised that the informant returned it so easily. 

 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, tucking it back into his top pocket. “Yeah, he did.”

 

Izaya hummed and let out a breath of smoke. “I remember it.”

 

“What do you mean ‘bad days’?” Shizuo asked, desperate to change the subject before the other man ventured too far. When the informant raised a brow, he explained further. “You said earlier - you have bad days. What does that mean?”

 

The brunet sighed, clearly not buying the sudden change of topic but he answered regardless, sounding rather uneasy. “On certain days I find it harder to move. My legs hurt, so I use a wheelchair. My arms ache, I get other people to open my bottles.”

 

Shizuo frowned. “Why are  _ certain  _ days worse?” 

 

“It can be caused by over-exertion or plain exhaustion or-” he hesitated and looked down into his glass. “Or psychosomatic.”

 

“What now?” 

 

Izaya glared up at him. “My brain makes things more complicated for me.”

 

The bartender snorted. “Yeah, well I know how that feels. You've been making my life complicated for years.”

 

He thought the snide comment would amuse the informant a little but instead his scowl darkened and his nose wrinkled in disgust. “I've never traumatised you to such an extent that your legs won't do what you tell them to, have I?” 

 

“No, but-”

 

“And for all your ranting and screaming, I've never  _ truly  _ hurt you, have I?” Izaya continued, his voice sharper than Shizuo had ever heard it. “I mistook you for a monster, I made a mistake. We all make mistakes, don't we? So don't you  _ dare  _ sit there and pretend you're a ‘good guy’ when you almost murdered me in the street.” 

 

The informant was verging on red by the time he’d finished. Shizuo sat in silence, staring blankly at the smouldering, forgotten cigarette in Izaya’s hand. 

 

“You know a client of mine once mentioned a man who could pick up a vending machine,” Izaya said, laughing incredulously. “It wasn't you but the very  _ thought  _ of you made me have to go to the bathroom to be sick-”

 

“Then why are you sitting in my fucking kitchen, flea?” Shizuo shouted, slamming a fist down on the table. “I'm sick of this! You seem to be forgetting that you ruined my life too, asshole. I hate you, I  _ hate  _ you, no matter how many times you want to bring up what happened that one fucking time-”

 

“So you do remember?” Izaya said. His tone was softer than before, as was his gaze, but Shizuo was too consumed with anger to notice. 

 

“Of course I fucking remember, how could I forget?” he roared, bolting upright in his seat. He pointed to the door and shook his head in disbelief. “Get out of my house.  _ Get out _ . And stay the fuck away from my bar.”

 

Izaya took another drag of his cigarette before stabbing it out in the ashtray on the table. Slowly, he placed a hand around his walking stick and pushed himself to his feet. The tremor in his movements was obvious but Shizuo was too pissed off to care whether or not Izaya was comfortable at that moment. 

 

“I don't think I'll ever stop resenting and hating you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya stated, tucking the chair back beneath the table. “Which is a comfort.”

 

“Feeling’s mutual.”

 

“If I may ask one final question,” he continued, stepping closer to the bartender. He peered up at him curiously, head tilted so that it would be at a more even level than his lopsided body. “If you see me, some day in the future, whilst I'm working in Ikebukuro - what will you do? Will you hurt me, try to kill me?” 

 

Shizuo hesitated to respond so the informant leaned closer to try and press him for an answer. The bartender took an uneasy step back, stomach squirming from the proximity. “No.”

 

“Why not?” Izaya asked, raising a brow. “Have you grown some sort of conscience?”

 

“That's not it,” Shizuo lied. He felt the anger quickly drain away as he observed Izaya’s stance, the scars. He didn't want to feel sorry for the man and he was sure as hell that Izaya didn't want that either. “You're not worth my time or energy anymore.”

 

Izaya stared at him blankly for a moment longer, then shook his head and sighed. He moved past the bartender and headed for the door. Shizuo didn’t turn to look at him, instead he focused his eyes on the bottle of wine the other man had left on the table and the thin plume of smoke twisting out of the stubbed out end. 

 

“Anymore,” Izaya repeated, softly. The door creaked open. “Your choice of words is telling, Shizu-chan.”

 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

 

Izaya hummed thoughtfully, then Shizuo heard his footsteps heading out into the night. “See you tomorrow.” 


	5. Burnt to little bits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient! I'm taking this one in a strange direction, more focused on how these characters could mature after their final confrontation and the relationship (if any) that could resurface between them. Please go over and read Poisoned Waters for their past context! Hope you enjoy.

Izaya came back the next night, just as Shizuo knew he would. He limped into the bar just as the last patron left and took his usual stool at the counter. The bartender ignored him for as long as he possibly could until Izaya finally slapped his wallet down on the surface and coughed loudly. 

 

“Excuse me,” the informant exclaimed. His obnoxious tone made Shizuo clench his fists and when he turned Izaya was grinning back at him, his smile finally back to its former level of anger-inducing smugness. “Who do I have to fuck to get a drink around here?”

 

The glass in Shizuo’s hand shattered under the weight of his irritation and he let out a hiss at the sharp pain of the shards digging into his hand. He swiped the remains into the recycling bin and sighed, turning his gaze back on Izaya. 

 

“I’m gonna start charging you for all the glasses you make me break,” he muttered. For some reason he felt awkward, their last conversation had hardly been civil. Izaya smirked, more like his old self than ever before, and tilted his cheek to rest on his knuckles. “Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?”

 

The informant chuckled and dropped his hand from his face so he could lace his fingers together on the bar. “How come you didn’t kick me out ten minutes ago?”

 

Shizuo hesitated for a moment, then scoffed under his breath and tossed the menu toward the smaller man. “What do you want?”

 

“What’s your favourite?”

 

He’d been expecting Izaya to order the most complicated drink on the menu just to annoy him, so the personal question threw him off a little. “You won’t like it. It’s too sweet.”

 

_ That  _ threw Izaya off and he leaned back on the stool, surprised. “Uh, I don’t- okay. Then I’ll have something sour.”

 

“Whisky sour will probably do,” Shizuo answered, turning around to look at the bar. As he started assembling the ingredients on the bar, he lost himself in thought. The flea had seemed so angry the previous night, he himself had been so angry - why did he come back? 

 

“I moved into my new apartment today,” Izaya stated. Shizuo glanced up at him to find him absently scrolling through an application on his phone. Why was he making small talk as if it was something they were capable of with one another? Shizuo blinked and continued mixing the cocktail, stirring the ice around the glass a little too forcefully. 

 

“Yeah?” he replied, trying to act with the same nonchalance as the other man. “Where to?” 

 

“Kabukicho, in Shinjuku,” Izaya said, placing his phone back on the counter. “I’ve always been fond of the area.”

 

Shizuo snorted and placed the finishing touches to the cocktail. “Sleepless Town. Lots of Yakuza round there, right?”

 

Izaya smirked and leaned a cheek against his knuckles. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

 

“Drugs, crime and sex shops,” Shizuo said, pushing the drink toward the informant. “Suits you down to the ground.”

 

The brunet took the drink and raised it from the bar in silent cheers before taking a sip. He hummed his approval and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Exquisite. And while I can understand the first two I’m not really into the sex shop part, Shizu-chan. We’re not all perverts here.”

 

The blond flushed red and grabbed himself a bottle of beer, cracking the lid off with his thumb. “I didn’t mean it like that, flea.”

 

“I know,” Izaya chuckled. “You’re so easily riled, it’s very amusing.” 

 

“Wait, you said the first two?” Shizuo frowned, taking a swig of beer. “I actually didn’t see you into drugs.”

 

“Well I’m not a frequent user, it would impair my ability to do my job,” he replied, moving the ice in his drink around with the straw. “But I’ve indulged once or twice.”

 

Shizuo hummed in surprise. “Gotta say I’m surprised.” 

 

“You can’t hang around mobsters for most of your life and  _ not _ , ne?”

 

“I ‘spose that’s true,” the blond laughed. He leaned against the bar and fixed his gaze on Izaya, observing him with curiosity. He’d never really thought about that aspect of his life properly before. “You must’ve had the weirdest life, flea. All this underworld shit, constantly planning, fightin’ - don’t you get tired?”

 

Izaya looked down into his drink and his smile fell into a hard line, brows furrowing into the centre of his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to live any other way. I get bored so easily it drives me mad. This - what I do - is something I find interesting. So why not pursue it to the utmost of my ability?”

 

The bartender pursed his lips. “Aren’t you terrified you’re gonna get killed one day?”

 

“Of course I am,” he answered, looking up at Shizuo. His eyes were empty of their usual amusement, back to those flat, black circles that Shizuo didn’t think suited him. “I don’t want to die, I never did.”

 

“Then why-?”

 

Izaya heaved a sigh and broke their shared gaze to look back down at the bar top. “I was willing to die then because at least I would have been proven right about you. You know better than most that I  _ hate  _ to be wrong.”

 

“You shouldn’t joke around with shit like that,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “If you valued your life you'd look after it more.”

 

The informant hummed thoughtfully. “I value ‘life’ more than just ‘being alive’, Shizu-chan.”

 

Shizuo stiffened at the strange admission, fingers tightening around the bottle in his hand. “You know, I’m glad I’m not as clever as you. The way you think is way too complicated.”

 

“Alas, I cannot help it,” Izaya smiled, raising his eyes back up to Shizuo’s. He raised his glass and held it toward the bartender. “Here’s to life.” 

 

They clinked their glasses together and drank in silence, neither able to foster any thoughts of worth. Izaya’s expression was halfway between manic and miserable, clearly spiralling into difficult thought. Shizuo chugged down the rest of his beer and threw it into the bin, where it noisily shattered to pieces. The informant jerked upright at the sudden noise, startled out of his thoughts. He blinked a few times, as if trying to remember where he was, then he turned his gaze up to Shizuo and still, there was that unfriendly flatness he hated. 

 

“Can I have another drink?” Izaya asked, quietly. “I’d prefer to be drunk.”

 

Shizuo nodded and crouched down to the beer fridge. “Here, here.”

 

-0-

 

One drink turned into two. Two in four. Four into buying a bottle of gin from the convenience store and going back to Izaya’s new apartment. Shizuo wasn’t sure why he carried on with everything the informant was suggesting, but he found him unusually likeable when he was tipsy. Izaya -  _ Izaya _ , who he’d always loathed - was rather amusing. His sense of humour was dry and dark but wonderfully witty and he didn’t mind being around him. It was different from the nights they’d drunk around one another when they were young, it felt more sedate, comfortable even. He could blame it on the alcohol, though deep down he knew that wasn’t the only thing driving him. Izaya’s apartment was enormous, expensively decorated as expected, a top-floor penthouse as his last place had been. They sat inside due to the cold but Izaya shoved an ashtray in front of him, indicating it was okay to smoke. 

 

The blond cast off his jacket and stretched out on the leather sofa in the centre of the room by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the flames dancing in the grate. Why was he here, he thought to himself. What on Earth had possessed him to come to Izaya’s place, what were his intentions here? He glanced at the informant as he limped over with two glasses and a bottle and grimaced when he realised the usual anger he felt wasn’t present. 

 

“This must have cost a fortune,” Shizuo stated, gesturing around the room. “How fucking minted are you?”

 

Izaya smirked and handed him a glass before collapsing into an armchair. He rested his walking stick on the floor beside him and pressed a hand to one of his calves, massaging the sore muscle there. “Good information can be sold for quite the price.”

 

“You’re an evil little shit, you know that?”

 

“I’m simply providing a service,” he replied, smoothly. He gestured to the bottle by Shizuo and passed him the one he was holding. “Tonic, gin. Would you mind making it? You are the bartender here after all.”

 

“Whatever,” he responded, holding a hand out for the tonic. Izaya shifted in his seat but a look of discomfort flashed across his face, so the blond sat upright and grabbed it off him. 

 

The informant frowned and looked down at his empty hand. “I can do things myself, you know.”

 

“I know,” Shizuo replied, cracking open the bottle. “You told me that a long time ago and I still believe you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

The blond glanced at him as he poured them both a double gin. “In Okinawa. You told me that you were capable of doing everything yourself.’

 

Izaya blinked, then his cheeks turned a dark shade of red and he looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. “Ah.”

 

Shizuo scoffed and set the gin down so he could pick up the tonic. “You were the one who wanted to talk about ‘that time’ weren’t you?”

 

He looked back up at Shizuo and laced his hands together in his lap, fidgeting slightly as he tried to gather his thoughts. “You never fail to surprise me, Shizu-chan.”

 

“It's what you always hated about me, right?” 

 

“Right,” Izaya replied. He relaxed into his seat and shrugged off his coat. 

 

Shizuo noted that he hadn’t seen the man wearing his usual fur-lined jacket since their last fight. In the past he wouldn’t have been seen without it. In fact his entire outfit was different, a lot smarter than the simple black garments he used to wear. A pair of black dress trousers, deep purple button up, shining shoes - he could easily be mistaken for a businessman. The bartender supposed he probably seemed different to Izaya as well. They were both different. He quickly looked back at the coffee table when Izaya noticed him staring and focused on the stack of books in the centre of the table. One of them was upturned, the cover spread out flat, clearly marking a page. 

 

“What you readin’?” Shizuo asked, trying to force some sort of conversation between them. He awkwardly fumbled with the cap of the tonic. The drinks needed ice and citrus but he was already tipsy and couldn’t be bothered to ask Izaya for anything, so he started pouring sloppily measured amounts into the glasses.

 

“Hmm? Oh, this?” Izaya murmured. He leaned forward so he could pick up the book and turned it over so Shizuo could see the title. “Can you read English?”

 

Shizuo nodded. “Pretty well actually. I used to help Kasuka rehearse and a lot of the film scripts were from America.”

 

The informant seemed a little surprised, then his mouth dropped into his familiar, lazy smirk. “And there was me thinking you couldn’t read at all.”

 

“Ha. You’re so fucking funny,” Shizuo retorted, handing the other man a drink. He resealed the bottles and leaned back in his seat, gesturing with his beverage to the book in Izaya’s hands. “So, what’s ‘Blood Meridian’ about?”

 

“You weren’t joking, huh? Unexpected,” Izaya smiled. He took a sip of his drink, then looked down at the book in his other hand. “It’s a strange read, Namie recommended it to me. I’ve read it a couple of times now but I keep having to revisit certain parts. It’s a sort of Western about a group who massacre Native Americans and others around the Mexican border, initially for bounty, then for pleasure, then purely out of anarchic habit.”

 

Shizuo grimaced and took a large gulp of his drink. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette and swiftly lit it with the lighter Kasuka bought him. “Sounds grim.”

 

“That’s the idea. The violence is extreme, I’ve had to put it down a couple of times to take a break,” he answered, turning the book face up again. “There’s this character called ‘The Judge’, who acts as the antagonist to this group of antagonists. He’s this enormous, hairless creature who at the same time as being a murderer has these incredible talents and this philosophical way of thinking that I can’t help but see a little of myself in.”

 

“So what, you see yourself as a sorta Judge?” Shizuo asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. 

 

Izaya shook his head and laughed. “Goodness no. I’ve no wish to be anything like that character. There are just a few lines that strike a chord is all.”

 

The blond raised a brow but didn’t pursue the thought any longer. He drew in a sharp breath and his lungs burned pleasantly as the smoke settled in them. “Maybe I’ll give it a look.”

 

Izaya looked down at the novel in his lap for a moment, then snapped it shut and threw it onto the table with the rest of the stack. “You can borrow it, I’ve read it enough times. I’ve written quite a lot of notes in the margins, you’ll just have to put up with that.”

 

“You sure?” Shizuo asked, hesitantly looking at the book. “I’ll give it back.”

 

The informant chuckled and gave Shizuo a strangely serene smile. “And there was me expecting you to rip all the pages out. You’ve changed.”

 

“So have you,” he replied, uncomfortable with the atmosphere that was beginning to verge on friendly. A sudden coldness ran down his spine, so he quickly finished his drink and stabbed his half-smoked cigarette out into the ashtray. This was going too far, what the fuck was he doing here? He glanced up at Izaya, who looked abnormally relaxed while Shizuo was so tense he felt like throwing up. Izaya swallowed and opened his mouth to speak but paused when Shizuo bolted upright in his seat and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “Shit, I really do have to get home. It’s late and I got work tomorrow.”

 

Izaya hesitated, then a flush darkened his cheeks and he nodded. “Don’t forget the book.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, grabbing it from the scattered pile on the table in a rush. He hastily donned his jacket and shoved the book in his inner pocket before moving round the sofa so that he could head to the front door. “I’ll return it when I’m done, okay?”

 

He was already halfway out of the door by the time Izaya replied. “See you soon, Shizu-chan.”

 

Shizuo near-sprinted down the corridor to the elevator, taking deep breath to try and calm himself down. He shouldn’t be in Izaya’s house, he shouldn’t be borrowing his things, he shouldn’t be drinking with him like an old friend. Izaya wasn’t a friend, he was a man Shizuo had almost murdered, he was a man who tried to murder him, he was  _ nothing.  _ His heart pounded so roughly that he thought it might explode out of his ribcage if he couldn’t settle. The elevator doors slid open and he headed inside, jabbing a finger onto the ground floor button over and over until they closed again. In the solitude of the tiny space, he let out a breath and tried to ease the tension around his temples by rubbing his fingertips gently over them. Adrenaline rushes were not uncommon for Shizuo but this was bizarre, there was a distinct lack of anger causing it. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the elevator wall. The weight of the book was heavy in his pocket, heavier than it should be. 

  
  
  
  



	6. If you call, then I'm coming to get you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys! Super busy at the moment but I have a free weekend so I'll be writing up some chapters for other works then :) Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Warning - smut

“So, what should I do?” Shizuo asked, gruffly. 

 

He leaned against the bridge railing and moved his cigarette back into his mouth. Cars passed at speed below, each one little more than a blur of light in the darkening evening. The Black Rider settled her arms on the railing next to him and began typing on the PDA in her hand. A shadow slid smoothly from her forearm and gripped the device, moving it so that it was suspended in front of his eyes. 

 

_ ‘Honestly Shizuo, that sounds like a fucked up situation. Sorry for the language.’ _

 

The bartender grinned and elbowed his friend in the ribs jovially. “You're excused, sailor-mouth.”

 

Celty’s elbowed him back as the shadow began tapping on the touch-screen of the PDA.  _ ‘I have a feeling you're not telling me the whole story with what happened in Okinawa but I'm not going to pry.’ _

 

Shizuo hesitated, smoke billowing from between his parted lips. “It's complicated. It was a long time ago.”

 

_ ‘Do you think your relationship with Izaya has changed since he’s been back?’  _ she asked, helmet tilting to one side. 

 

“I dunno. I guess so. I mean, we’re not tryin’ to kill each other at the moment.”

 

Celty’s shoulders moved up and down as if she were laughing. “ _ Well, I suppose that’s something. Still, you surely can’t forget all the things he did to you?’ _

 

He shook his head and took another drag of the cigarette then heaved a sigh, the smoke filling the cold, empty air. “Of course not. Izaya’s always going to be a nasty little shit, no matter how much he might seem to change.”

 

_ ‘Do you think he’s changed?’  _ Celty queried. She raised her gloved hand and traced the swirling patterns of smoke with a fingertip.  _ ‘I can’t imagine Izaya as anyone but the threatening, sneaky man-child I remember.’ _

 

He laughed and turned around, so that he could rest his back against the railings. With a grin, he rolled his head to the side so that he could look at his headless friend, who turned and mirrored his position. “Izaya’s never gonna change completely and to be honest, I'm glad about that. When I first saw him he was all nervous and jittery and, well, I didn't like it at all. Wasn't right.”

 

The Dullahan was motionless for a moment then she turned to Shizuo and laid a hand on his shoulder. The PDA hovered in front of his face, shadows licking the screen.  _ ‘I’m not sure if I’m sure of my own advice here, Shizuo, so feel free to ignore me. But it seems that both you and Izaya have been gravitating toward one another since his return. If things feel different and you want to change your relationship with him, then perhaps you should explore it. That’s for you and him to decide. But please don’t forget who he is and what he’s done. And what you have done to him.’ _

 

Shizuo nodded and flicked the butt of his cigarette over the railing. He shut his eyes briefly, remembering the crunch of the informant’s bones beneath his fist, the heat of the fire that burned his own flesh. “I don’t think I’d be able to forget, even if I tried.”

 

_ ‘It was a strange time,’  _ Celty replied. Her helmet turned up, as if she were looking at the darkening sky.  _ ‘But time passes, the world goes on. I suppose we have to keep up with the present, rather than remaining in the past.’ _

 

The bartender rolled his head as well and searched the dark blue for the first sign of stars. “What I’d give for a simple life.”

 

‘ _ Me too, Shizuo. Me too.’ _

 

“Thanks for letting me talk, Celty,” Shizuo said, smiling warmly at the blank visor of the helmet. “You're too good to me.”

 

Celty tapped him playfully on the shoulder.  _ ‘Anytime. Now, in return you have to give me some advice about Shinra.’ _

 

“Ah, fuck.”

  
  


-0-

  
  


Izaya spent the next day unpacking the last of the boxes that were stored in his bedroom. Moving back had been a pain but he’d had a lot of help from Namie. She’d been oddly caring for someone he’d previously pegged as selfish, having watched over him since the beginning of his recovery. Now they were back in Ikebukuro, Namie had been able to return to her apartment across the city - she’d lived in his temporary lodgings for a period after the fight between him and Shizuo. They were both glad to be living separately again, the two of them were so similar in their ways that it made cohabitation unbearable. Still, the dedication and time Namie had given him gave him newfound respect for her which he made sure to compensate in her latest paycheck. 

 

He folded away the last of his clothes and slowly got to his feet, stomach rumbling at the prospect of dinner. It was evening already but he’d not bothered to change out of his pajamas as he’d slept in rather late. Last night he’d been unable to sleep due to the thousand thoughts of Shizuo circling round in his mind. He didn't fully understand why he kept going back to the bar, nor why he invited the bartender back to his apartment the previous evening. There was something there, something curious that he couldn't quite place but wanted to pursue regardless. For once there was nothing he could plan in advance, he could only let his feelings dictate his actions, which for someone like Izaya was extremely disconcerting. 

 

The informant prepared himself a simple meal of rice and vegetables, then settled down behind his desk to work and eat. He found he could move a little easier than previous days in the week, so he didn't need to rely on his stick as much. It was still slightly painful and he was rather slow but it was better than nothing. As he ate he debated whether or not he should go to the bar again tonight. He didn't know Shizuo’s work schedule and it was already late, but part of him wanted to get dressed and falsify some reason for being at that end of town. 

 

He speared a piece of broccoli and held it up to his face, grimacing slightly at the sight of it. He used to hate broccoli but Namie made him eat it almost every day while he was recovering and he’d gotten used to the taste these days. When the food was finished, he pushed the bowl away and dragged his laptop closer so that he could open up the chat-rooms he often frequented. There was very little activity in the streets that week, it was far too cold even for the hardiest of thugs to want to congregate outside. Izaya shifted uncomfortably in the chair, body aching due to the lack of stretches and exercise he’d done today. Instead of painkillers, he opted for the bottle of gin he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. 

 

Izaya poured himself a short and set the bottle back on the desk. It was nicer than the stuff he’d drunk with Shizuo but not nearly as pleasant as the cocktail the bartender had prepared for him. Izaya’s grimace darkened and he tried to push the thoughts from his mind and the ignore the flutter in his stomach. Somehow, it was harder than expected and the informant found himself remembering, then reminiscing, then dreaming on things that he could never expect to happen. He considered jerking himself off but then there came a sound from the front door. 

 

_ BANG BANG BANG.  _

 

Izaya jumped, lifting his fingers off the keyboard of his computer. He rested them in his lap and stared at the ceiling as the pounding on the door intensified. For a moment he sat in silence, then he heard his name roared from the corridor outside his apartment and dropped his gaze to the source of the noise. It seemed like he wouldn't have to go to the bar after all. With another sigh he stood and slowly rounded the desk, sliding his trusty flick-knife from his pocket. It was strange how much things had changed in the short amount of time they had spent together since that night on the balcony. He no longer felt the same chill down his spine, nor the panic that he’d once felt simply by the thought of Shizuo. Things weren’t quite back to the way they were, but Izaya felt far better than he had in years **.** Still, it would be stupid to go without a knife, the beast was unpredictable after all. The door was shaking in the frame under the weight of the person beating their fists against it, so Izaya quickly unlocked it and stepped back when it violently swung open. There were number of dents in the metal, which he rolled his eyes at. 

 

“Izaya.”

 

The informant lazily turned his gaze up to meet that of the blond man standing on the threshold. “Shizu-chan.”

 

Shizuo glared at him as he moved forward and shoved past him into the apartment. The action caused the brunet to lose his balance and he had to catch himself against the wall with his hand before he toppled over. The mask of sneering calm quickly fell off and he was left as bare-faced and honest as Shizuo himself. Izaya shook his head and locked the door again before following the other man into the living room. The blond had already collapsed onto the sofa and was in the process of taking off his shoes by the time Izaya dropped into the armchair opposite him. 

 

“So, what brings you back here tonight?” Izaya asked, resting his cheek atop his knuckles. He crossed one leg over the other and forced himself not to wince at the feeling that shot through his thighs. 

 

“Shit day. Too cold,” Shizuo answered, kicking his shoes onto the floor. He leaned back into the cushions and relaxed, opening the top two buttons of his shirt. He was wearing something similar to his old bartender’s uniform, a white shirt and dark trousers. Everything apart from the bowtie and the waistcoat which were scrunched up next to him on the sofa. A bottle of wine rested on top of them, unopened, with a label still stuck on the side. Izaya noted that it was red, his preferred choice. Shizuo enjoyed wine sweeter, white. 

 

Izaya hummed in agreement. He’d never been fond of the cold and Tokyo’s winters could be unbearably frosty, so he tended to stay indoors more than usual. “So, you came here because you were too cold?” 

 

“Your apartment is nice and warm,” Shizuo replied, running his hands through his hair. His gaze softened but his lips curved down into a frown. “I wanted to come here.”

 

“Why?” the informant asked. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling a little at the agonised expression on Shizuo’s face, he looked on the verge of exploding. 

 

Shizuo rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair again, clearly nervous. When he looked back up at Izaya, the informant was peering up at him through his lashes, an uncertain look on his face. “I dunno. Do I need a reason?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Izaya stated, raising a brow.  The pit in his stomach dropped a little further. “Considering our past and current relationship, I’d say you need a reason to just ‘drop by’ at seven in the evening.”

 

“I-” he began, hesitantly. “I don’t know. You came to mine without a reason! And- and I worked the day shift and I've got tomorrow off so I thought I'd l-”

 

He paused again and ran a hand over his forehead, trying to piece together his thoughts. Whatever was running through his mind was clearly difficult for him, his features kept contorting into various expressions of discomfort. Izaya sat silently, waiting for his response. 

 

“Look, flea, I don't know why I came here. You said you wanted to level the playing field, so- ugh, I dunno. If you want me to leave, I'll leave.” 

 

Izaya sat up straighter and swallowed. This visit had thrown him deeper into uncertainty. Usually it was he who took the initiative and went to Shizuo - that it was the blond who turned up of his own volition was indicative of a development. The playing field had changed, it was now level but neither were making any further move. 

 

“In Okinawa, you said something I wish I'd written down,” Shizuo mumbled, looking down at his hands. He laced his fingers together as if holding on to himself. “Something about remembering sweetness-”

 

Izaya interrupted him. “It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace. It's a quote from an American writer.”

 

“Yeah that's it,” Shizuo replied, gruffly. “I, uh- well, I think it's on the mark when it comes to us. I don't remember any time when I didn't hate you. Even when-” He paused and looked back at Izaya as he drew in a breath. “-even when we had sex.” 

 

The informant’s lips parted in surprise. To hear the moment they’d never spoken about acknowledged by the man who had always been his most hated enemy was odd and it disturbed him somewhat. Partly because of his own reaction, the way his guts tightened nervously and his palms began to sweat. Izaya swallowed nervously, then forced a wonky smirk onto his face.

 

“So you do remember,” he murmured, softly. He clenched a hand around his knee, fingernails digging into the flannel of his pajamas. 

 

Shizuo nodded and a slight flush spread across his cheeks. “Yeah. I never thought I would ever have to speak about it again, though. I was so focused on beating the shit outta you these past years that I never had time or want to think on it. On whether I- on how I felt about it.”

 

“I guess not,” Izaya replied, relaxing the grip on his knee. He swallowed the lump in his throat and glanced back up at the other man, who was staring blankly back at him. Shizuo wore a look that made him both sickened and excited. “And how do you feel about it?”

 

The blond hesitated and ran a hand through his hair again, as he always seemed to do when he was nervous. After a moment, he stood and crossed the small space between them until he was standing in front of Izaya. The uncertain expression on his face cleared, his eyelids settled and his mouth curved just an inch into a frown. The smaller man tensed and adrenaline pulsed rapidly through his veins as Shizuo offered a hand toward him. 

 

“I don’t know,” he repeated, voice unusually calm. “But I think- I think I'd regret ignoring my thoughts a second time.”

 

Izaya didn’t manage to reply before Shizuo’s mouth was over his own. 

  
  


-0-

  
  


Things moved quickly after that. 

 

The lounge became the bedroom. Tentative touches began near-painful grasping, clawing, biting. Their breathing began rapid and uneven, skin became overheated and slick with moisture.  Izaya’s hair was soft, his limbs tense as they moved across the bed sheets underneath him. Parts of his body were smooth, others rough from burn marks and scars. It was insane, what they were doing, insane to be back in that position after all the years and all the violence in between. Shizuo trailed his hands down over Izaya’s chest, thumbs rolling over his nipples and the smaller man let out a soft sigh at the slight pressure. He chuckled and leaned down, wanting to nestle his head into the crook of his neck. His right hand moved up into his dark hair whilst the other remained on his chest. Slowly, he began to apply more pressure to Izaya’s nipple, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger. The informant started to groan louder, his voice now more than just a whisper in his ear. As his mewls turned to shouts when he started to twist his fingers, Shizuo pressed his lips against the side of his neck. He loved the feeling of the large vein beneath his skin, the feeling of his blood pumping rapidly through it. There were scars beneath his skin, that same web of roughness that he noticed that first night in the bar. When Izaya let out a loud hiss of pain, he released the sore nipple and rubbed it gently with the flat of his palm.

 

"Shizu-chan, I-" Izaya groaned, grinding his hips up into the other man’s. "Ugh,  _ come on _ ."

 

The blond leaned back and looked down at him from his position between his thighs. Izaya looked beautiful, his face flushed, skin saturated with sweat. His left pectoral had turned an angry red from his ministrations which stained the creamy white expanse of his torso. The look the informant fixed him with was one of pure hazy lust and Shizuo could barely contain his excitement at the sight of him. Things were going to quickly, it was overwhelming but he knew if he stopped, even for a second, then the reality of the situation would catch up with both of them. Shizuo told himself to let go, to lose his head and make Izaya lose his in turn. 

 

“Drawer,” Izaya mumbled, jerking his head to the side. When the blond gave him a confused look, he rolled his eyes and frowned. “Lubricant, Shizu-chan. I don’t want you tearing me in half.”

 

“Ah, uh - yeah,” Shizuo flushed and quickly leaned across the informant’s torso so that he could reach the top drawer of the bedside table. He retrieved the bottle and pumped a sufficient amount over his fore and middle fingers, then threw it back into the drawer. After spreading the liquid down so it covered the length of his digits, he glanced at Izaya, who was watching him carefully. “So, uh-”

 

Izaya glared at him and his mouth pulled down in a scowl. “Come  _ on. _ ”

 

Shizuo glared back and pushed his forefinger into the man without further ceremony. The sudden intrusion clearly shocked the informant, his eyes bulged and his lips parted as he let out a soft groan. For a moment the blond held still, allowing Izaya to get used to the sensation, then he rocked his hand back and eased his middle finger in alongside the first. The brunet gasped as he began to move his fingers in and out, curling the tips as they reached the furthest internal point. He writhed against the sheets, leaking cock bobbing against his stomach. It was an inviting image, one Shizuo thought would be burned into his brain forever. When the blond began scissoring his fingers to stretch him open, Izaya keened and clenched the sheets tightly in his hand. 

 

“F-fuck,” he moaned. He shifted his head off the pillow so that he could peer at Shizuo through dazed, yet hungry eyes. The look made the blond halt his motions and he pulled his hand back, resting his damp fingers on Izaya’s thigh. “Fuck me, Shizuo. Come on, already.”

 

A low rumble sounded in Shizuo’s chest and he bore his teeth at Izaya as he grabbed ahold of his thigh and dragged him closer. The informant hissed in pain, the sound distinctly different from the pleasured moans he’d made when Shizuo was twisting the skin of his chest. It was obvious that the pain was coming from his legs which made the blond hesitate. He didn't want to hurt the man like that. He didn't want to be reminded of what  _ he  _ did to Izaya. 

 

"Ready?" Shizuo asked, gripping his thin hips. The scars were worse there, thick, grotesque reminders of how far they could push one another. Izaya nodded briefly and raised one hand toward him. Eagerly, he threaded his fingers through the blond’s and leaned back against the pillows as Shizuo positioned his head at his entrance.

 

"Don't be gentle with me, Shizu-chan," he murmured, as the blond leaned over him. “I don't think I could bear it.”

 

“I don't wanna hurt you,” he replied, gruffly. He began to press the tip of his cock into the smaller man and frowned when Izaya’s eyes screwed shut in obvious pain. Shizuo paused which made the informant growl aggressively at him. 

 

“ _ Do it _ . I'm not so fragile.” 

 

Shizuo smiled wearily, gaze tracing the various marks on his torso and the weak tension of his muscles. He thought back to Izaya standing in the street with broken arms swinging uselessly at his sides, blood bubbling from his mouth, but  _ still  _ standing,  _ still _ taunting despite death staring him in the face, and laughed. No, Izaya wasn't fragile, he was  _ impossible.  _

 

Izaya let out a slight gasp as Shizuo slid forcefully into him. The blond growled and thrust into him roughly, groaning as the tightness surrounded him to an almost painful extent. With his hands placed on either side of Izaya’s head, he sunk down onto his forearms, wanting to place his lips against the smaller man’s once more. His strokes were hard, rapid and deep enough to hurt slightly but clearly he was holding himself back. 

 

"Fuck, ‘zaya-," he panted, rocking his hips up sharply to keep up the depth he was hitting. "-feel so fucking good."

 

The informant laughed lightly and dragged his nails across the back of Shizuo’s neck, who shuddered and bit down harshly on the side of his neck in return. Izaya’s hips rolled underneath him and he let out a loud noise of satisfaction, clearly enjoying the sensation.

 

“Harder,” he groaned, tugging on the hair at the nape of Shizuo’s neck. “Come  _ on _ .”

 

Shizuo gripped the underside of one of Izaya’s knees and pushed it over his shoulder as he jerked his hips forward aggressively. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing grotesquely with Izaya’s wails of pleasure and Shizuo’s breathy growls. It was disgusting, they shouldn't be doing this again, the bartender thought, as he gripped the man’s leg hard enough to bruise. It was disgusting and vile and  _ God, it felt good.  _ Izaya looked perfect in the dim light of the bedroom lamp, perfect with a sheen of sweat over reddened skin and parted lips and eyes blown wide with adrenaline. God damn it, Shizuo thought, how could this ugly thing look so lovely. 

 

“I said -  _ harder _ ,” Izaya sneered. He raked his nails down the blond’s back, then around until his hand was settled on his shoulder. His wide eyes glimmered with something between ecstasy and malice. “Don't tell me you're going soft on me, monster?”

 

“Shut up,” Shizuo raised himself up, sitting back on his knees, slowing but not ceasing his thrusts. His hands moved up Izaya’s torso and gripped loosely around her throat. He leaned forward and looked into his dark eyes, rolling his hips roughly toward him. The man stared back through half-lidded eyes, amusement and pain darkening his expression. Shizuo tightened his grip and started to pick up his pace, finally letting himself go. Izaya gasped at the sudden pressure, breath raggedly leaving his lips. The blond leaned down again, face hovering just above Izaya’s so he could feel the warmth of his breath spill across his skin. As he pounded into him, spurts of air forced their way from between his lips and the tight hold meant he could not easily draw them back in. Soon, his eyes widened and his skin flushed a deeper shade of scarlet. The position, the feeling of his dick inside of the informant and his fingers around his throat - Shizuo was so close, the feeling was nearing unbearable

 

"Fuck," he growled, clenching his fingers tighter around his neck. Izaya wheezed again and reached up to scrabble at his hand, scratching the skin of his knuckles. "God, ‘zaya, I'm going to come."

 

A strangled moan rattled out of his lips and Shizuo felt his walls clench tightly around him, felt a burst of liquid against his stomach. Izaya’s body twisted under his grip as he continued to thrust into him, eyes never leaving his reddened face, his bulging eyes until finally he cried out and every muscle in his body tensed. Pleasure hit him like a freight train, his mind went blank with bliss for a moment, then slowly his body relaxed and he collapsed onto the other man, one hand still resting in the crook of his knee. 

 

A few seconds passed, the only sound their heavy panting, then Izaya coughed to get the other’s attention. Shizuo raised his head a little and looked blearily at him. 

 

“What?”  

 

“You're crushing me,” Izaya replied. His voice was weaker than usual, barely a croak. 

 

Shizuo nodded and pushed himself up so that he could sit back on his knees. He chewed his bottom lips nervously as he took in the sight before him. Izaya’s throat was bright red, already darkening into purple in places, and there was visible marks across his chest and legs from where he’d squeezed the skin too roughly. The informant was swallowing a lot, trying to get the uncomfortable feeling away from his crushed throat and he clearly winced when he tried to sit up. Instead of raising himself up, he simply flopped back onto the mattress, giving up on his aching body in favour of sleep. Shizuo raised a hand and gently traced over the dark spots on Izaya’s hips, letting out a sigh. 

 

“Perhaps you were always right, flea,” he mumbled, ashamed. “I'm just a monster who can't control himself.” 

 

Izaya stared at him blankly, then raised one arm toward Shizuo. He offered a hand and pulled the blond down so that his head was resting on the informant’s chest. “Don't be so stupid, Shizu-chan. Now do shut up and go to sleep before you start overthinking things. We both know you're terrible at anything that takes even a modicum of brain power.”

 

Shizuo scowled but shut his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position, wrapped around Izaya’s body. “Fuck off, flea.”

 

The smaller man smiled, unseen by the other. 

 

 

 

  
  
  



End file.
